Page 89 of Wildly Inappropriate

My desktop pings, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a message coming through from Brian.

Brian:Got your message. We’ve isolated the breach but we’re still working on patching the vulnerabilities. Pen testers will get the results soon. We’re on track, but it’s delicate. I’ll keep you posted.

Good. At least that’s one thing I don’t have to stress about right now.

My mind wanders back to the shocking information that Kelsey knows Jaxon Steele. How have I lived here this long without someone in town mentioning they knew him way back when? That feels like information that would just be part of the standard Wild Bluffs rotation. On the plus side, while I’m not sure who our competition is, it feels like Kelsey growing up with Jaxon will be a positive, right? Unless she was secretly the mean girl growing up. Then maybe it will take more than our kickass proposal. After everything I’ve gone through with this proposal, I’m far more invested than I should be, and it makes me anxious that it’s all coming down to a handful of final decisions. A part of me should feel relieved the finish line is near, but instead, I feel a familiar sense of dread creeping in.

What will I do with my time if we don’t get the contract, and I don’t have enough work to keep me busy until nine or ten every night?

My work has been the perfect distraction. Distraction from the ache in my chest, the endless loop of thoughts about JT, and the constant questioning of where I went wrong or what I could’ve done differently. Whenever the feelings get too loud, I lose myself in work. But now, with things winding down, I can feel the emptiness gnawing at me again, threatening to bubble to the surface.

I shake my head, willing myself to focus. One task at a time.

Before I know it, an hour has passed, and Becca and Izzy are both arriving, settling in to start their workdays. I absently reach into my bag for my notebook, and as I pull it out, a paperback tumbles out with it, landing on the floor with a soft thud.Fighting for Forever, by Mia Ford. The cover, featuring an illustrated couple locked in an almost-kiss, seems to mock me, but I don’t let it. Instead, I see it as a source of inspiration. It’s about a brooding hero who pushes the heroine away because he doesn’t think he deserves her, only to have a grand epiphany about how much he loves her. I may have reached an unhealthy level of projecting, but until I convince both myself and JT that this isn’t just a storyline for novels, I’m going to keep reading.

I deserve a happy ending, and so does JT. Love is worth fighting for, and there is no doubt in my mind what we had was real, even if it was messy and imperfect—hell, I know it’s realbecauseit’s messy and imperfect.

Shoving the book back into my bag, I look over at my officemates. Becca’s long blonde hair is the only part of her I can see around her computer monitor. She’s explaining something about lowering overhead to increase profit margins to Izzy, who is silently sipping her coffee as she stares intently at Becca’s screen. They look busy, but I also need to know more about the Jaxon Steele drama that was casually dropped in my lap this morning.

“Umm, you guys, did you know Jaxon Steele grew up here?” I ask, immediately feeling stupid. Of course they knew that. They also grew up here. You don’t miss a kid when your entire grade has less than fifty students in it.

“Yep,” Becca says, showing no interest whatsoever in this.

“And?” I ask.

“And what?” Becca replies.

“You guys told me the entire family history of the girl who delivered my coffee last week. You knew her great-grandfather’s name.”

“Well, his name was Elmer Fud. That’s not something you forget easily.”

“Okay…but one of the top country artists in the world grew up with you and you didn’t even mention it. He would’ve been like, right around your age, right? Did you know him? Is he awful?” I can feel myself getting carried away here. He was likely just a nobody little kid who moved away when he was like six or something.

“He’s roughly the same age as us, yep,” Becca replies, shooting a glance at her friend as she says it. Izzy is surprisingly quiet about the whole thing, but who am I to talk? I haven’t been the best company of late.

“Did you guys know him? Were you friends with him?” I gush.

“I’m going to go grab some more coffee,” Izzy says, standing up and heading toward the door, a coffee cup still in her hand. I watch her go before turning back to Becca. She still has her eyes trained on her friend as she makes her way across the street, headed back to get a coffee that she doesn’t need.

“Look, I get that JaxonSteele”—she laughs at the last part, making it clear Steele wasn’t always his last name—“is like a superstar, but there is a complicated history between him and a lot of people in this town, including Izzy, so I would be careful who you bring him up to.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yep. Now, if you’re finally ready to talk again, why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you and the guy you most likely love but definitely are also super pissed at.”

Chapter forty-three

JT

Sam pulls my carinto the garage at my house, insisting on chauffeuring me everywhere since he rolled into town three days ago.

“Well, another day down,” Sam says with a smile. “And all those smoothies I’ve been feeding you have really helped counterbalance that gray pallor your skin had taken on.”

We are just getting back from my third appointment with Dr. Burbanks, the psychiatrist Sam pulled a lot of strings with to get me in same day. I was so uncomfortable as I sat in the leather chair in his office, picking at the seam on the armrest while I tried to figure out how much eye contact I should be making. Based on my answers to a variety of questions, and Sam’s input, Dr. Burbanks decided I was experiencing situational depression and prescribed me a low-dose antidepressant as a temporary treatment to accompany my daily therapy sessions. If all goes well, the sessions will move to weekly or virtual here in a week or two, and I’ll stop taking the medication after a few more weeks of progress.

The sessions are starting to feel less foreign, but every time I leave, there is a heaviness in my chest, like all these tangled emotions have been ripped open, and now I have to figure out what to do with them. I hadn’t realized how much I’d buried until I started talking, and now everything feels raw. Still, I know I need to keep going, even if it feels like I’m unraveling a bit more each day.

Today, when he asked me what was on my mind, I willingly shared my anxiety about not having a golf tournament this weekend. I have five whole days staring me in the face and no idea what to do with them. The distraction of golf, and my relative success at it, has always been my way of avoiding what’s underneath. We talked about it for a while about my relationship with my parents. I told him about my dad giving up his chance at becoming a professional golfer to coach me and about my mom working multiple jobs to allow us to afford such an expensive dream. I told him golf is the only thing that has truly made me feel like I’m worth something. Well, golf and Lila, but I don’t know what to do with that realization yet.

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